


Conviction

by Shush7



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Armie's POV, M/M, Shameless Timmy is shameless, but the author is drowning in shame, indecent use of a lollipop by a grown-ass man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 08:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shush7/pseuds/Shush7
Summary: I had never seen anyone fuck their own mouth with a lollipop before.





	Conviction

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW I should be writing "Seven" instead and I'm sorrysorrysorry for not updating it, but I've had the absolute worst writer's block of my life for the last three weeks. So instead, here is some shameless Timmy written for the lollipop challenge as a little palate cleanser. PS. As I'm currently an inhabitant of the hating-everything-I-write zone, then please be kind.
> 
> ALSO, I HAVE A TUMBLR NOW, so feel free to come and stalk me @ workslikeacharmie. Let's be friends. Or enemies. Or however it works on tumblr, I'm still figuring it out (send help?).
> 
> Small disclaimer: this is f i c t i o n.

 

I had never seen anyone fuck their own mouth with a lollipop before.

Yet there was no question in my mind that the ethereally beautiful boy leaning on the wall across the room, holding my gaze with conviction, was doing just that.

I was reduced to the role of spectator, even the role of helpless prey, counting the seconds to my unquestionable demise as the round, bright red sucker disappeared into Timothée’s mouth only to re-emerge half a second later with an obscene wet pop before being forced back, _actually forced back_ into his mouth between soft, puckered lips.

His lips were equally red, the sinful colour a result of the continuous rough treatment of his own doing. His mouth looked swollen, sticky with the sugary liquid and I would have sold my soul to steal a taste.

He pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards the couch I was seated on, his movements effortless, gracious.

The walk was torturously slow and I could have sworn he was smirking had his mouth not been otherwise occupied.

He was wearing all black, a short sleeved v-neck paired with tight jeans that were hugging his body just the right way. They were in _perfect contrast_ with his pale complexion and in _perfect harmony_ with the colour of his luscious curls. ~~~~

Timothée looked like a menace, eyes dark and tempting. _I wanted to devour him_.

My gaze was glued to his thin frame, my body glued to the couch under me and _none of it_ seemed real until I felt his knees bump into mine, felt his hand run through my hair, nails gently scraping my scalp.

He was looking down at me, curls having fallen over his face, and I had no doubt in my mind that I looked too much like a puppy, staring at him in poorly disguised wonder from behind long lashes. I wish I could have pulled off displeasure, mild resentment. Yet I couldn’t even fool myself, let alone him.

_I loved him touching my hair._

But before I could brace myself, before I had any fucking idea what would happen next, he simply sat down on my lap completely unceremoniously, legs spread wide, his face so close I could smell the sweet scent of strawberry on his lips.

 _‘What do you think you’re doing?_ ’ I wanted to ask him, _to beg him to tell me_ , but the words died in my throat. I didn’t care what he thought he was doing. I just wanted him to keep doing it.

He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, licking his sticky lips with an equally sticky tongue before dragging his plush lower lip between white teeth and smirking.

Not even for a moment did his emerald greens leave my eyes – he was hunting his prey and it was merely a matter of time when those actions would bring his desires to fruition.

 “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” his voice sultry, steady, persuasive.

He dragged the lollipop across his lips, pink tongue darting out to taste it, to tease it the same way he was teasing me.

“For two years, Armie, I’ve seen the way you look at me. Especially when you think I’m oblivious to it.”

He smiled devilishly before continuing, something dark flashing in his eyes, “I never was.”

He licked his lips, taking his sweet time while my heart was beating out of my chest, trying to leap towards him in desperate effort.

I was _terrified._ There was no use in denying it. _Of course he knew how I had looked at him_. It was impossible to not know. Such as it was impossible to not want him.

He was too beautiful, too _close_ to resist.

“I know you like my mouth, my hair, my neck,” he let his head fall back in demonstration, baring his pale, delicate neck while continuing to hold my gaze, letting his thin fingers slowly run across his Adam’s apple, the hollow of his throat.

It was a calm, collected seduction, him dismantling me piece by piece. Over the course of the last two years I had given him all of the necessary tools for it, he even knew all the right buttons to push.

_He had read me like a fucking manual._

And I was _drowning in molten want_ , my insides on fire, every inhale further feeding the flames because of– _god, because of the way he smelled_ – a mixture of syrupy strawberry and something that was distinctly _him_.

_He still smelled the same as he had in Crema, freckled skin sun-kissed and Armie-kissed._

I wanted to lick his neck, lick into his mouth, lick past the taste of strawberry to see if he tasted the same, too. To see whether the 22-year-old Timothée splayed across my lap would have the same flavor as the 20-year-old Timmy did.

Yet I doubted he would – he had ripened, some of the innocence gone, _raw, fiery audacity_ having taken its place.

Or maybe he was acting.

My hands were clenched into fists, breathing harsh, laboured, and it took all of my self-control to not grab ahold of him, to not throw him down onto the wooden floor of the hotel room and rip off his clothes before fucking him with abandon. I could hear the little devil sitting on my shoulder whisper, ‘Surely that would wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face.’

_This had to stop._

“You need to stop,” my voice sounded forced and completely unconvincing.

Timothée shifted his body forward, pushing his clothed cock against mine as he let go of his neck.

“Do I?” He was so close I could feel his breath on my face, the scent of strawberry completely overpowering my senses.

“I know you want to fuck me, Armie,” his soft, sticky mouth looking lascivious when forming the indecent words.

He turned his head and with lips almost grazing my ear, whispered, “I want you to do it,” his voice the definition of liquid desire.

And just because he could, he repeated his demand, enunciating each word, letting them roll off his tongue slowly, an act of torture, “I want you to fuck me, Armie.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your feedback means the world to me :).


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